Within My Heart (40 page)

“I like to think our sweet children were waitin’ right there for him, for their papa, soon as he crossed over.”

Rachel lifted her gaze. “I’m sure they were.”

Lyda’s expression held such tenderness. “Right beside your Thomas.”

Rachel bowed her head and saw Lyda pull something from her pocket.

“Here,” Lyda said softly, holding out her hand. “Ben wanted to have this buried with him.”

Rachel took the suede pouch. She’d seen it before and knew what it contained—the ball and jacks that had belonged to their son. Even now, Lyda fingered their daughter’s hair ribbon in her hand.

“Reckon I’ll save this,” Lyda whispered, “and have it buried with me when my time comes.”

Unable to answer, Rachel nodded.

For the longest moment, neither of them spoke. They sat together in the silence, each knowing what the other was feeling.

“I’m all alone now,” Lyda whispered, her hands starting to tremble. She pressed a palm to her midsection. “My family’s all gone. First our little Andrew and sweet Ellie Grace. And now Ben.”

Rachel looked up. It had been years since she’d heard Lyda speak her son’s and daughter’s names aloud. She covered her hand. “You’re not alone, Lyda. We’ll be here for you—the boys and me. And I’ll never forget Andrew and Ellie Grace. Or Ben. I’ll remember them with you forever. I promise.”

And then it occurred to her—Ben was home with Thomas now, and Ben had promised to give him her message. Which meant . . . without a doubt
now
, Thomas knew.

“I appreciate your help with this, James. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Rachel closed the door to the back room of the clinic and followed her brother down the hallway, hoping Rand would return before the undertaker arrived. He’d been gone all day. Sally Brewer’s labor, her first, was apparently taking longer than they’d hoped.

“Thank you for asking me.” Her brother’s smile was typical James—warm, caring, ever strong. “I consider it an honor. Ben and Lyda have always seemed like family.”

Rachel agreed, but she was glad to have this part behind them. She’d pressed Ben’s suit and tie earlier that afternoon, as Lyda requested. And though they looked handsome on him, it just didn’t look like Ben to her. She would always picture him with that white apron cinched about his waist, his winsome smile at the ready.

James ran a hand over the medicine chest they’d given Rand. “This looks good in here.”

“Yes, it does. It’s nice to see it being used again.”

“And by another doctor, no less.” A discerning look moved in behind his eyes, one she knew quite well.

Aware of how easily he read her, Rachel picked up a book Rand had left on the hearth and studied the cracked binding.
The Science
of Cardiac Health and Healing.
The pages were dog-eared, notes scribbled in the margins. No telling how many times he’d read and reread this volume.

“He’s not like our father,” James said softly behind her. “But I’m sure you know that by now.”

She thumbed the pages of the book, vowing to read it, and relishing the scent of aged ink and paper, and the fact that Rand had held it. “Yes, I do.” She could ask James the reason behind his and Rand’s meeting days back, but in her heart, she knew. And besides, James wouldn’t divulge a thing. Honor was his middle name. She returned the book to its place.

“Rand Brookston is a fine man.” She turned to face her brother. “He’s kind and caring and intelligent, and a gifted physician. And while I truly appreciate what you’re trying to do—”

“I’m not trying to do anything, Rachel. I promise.” Sincerity marked his words. “I just want you to know where I stand where he’s concerned. I loved Thomas like a brother. But I know he’d want you to be happy, and to move on. For your sake as much as the boys’. ”

Rachel lowered her gaze, fingering the edge of her sleeve. “I realize that.”

“No, I don’t think you do. And I think that’s part of your problem.”

She lifted her head, surprised at the bluntness in his tone. “My
problem
?”

He gently tweaked the tip of her nose the way he’d done when they were younger. “That was a poor choice of words on my part. I apologize. I’m only saying what I think Thomas would want me to say, Rachel, if he were listening in on our conversation right now. And I think he’d want me to tell you that he wants you to be as happy as you can be on the road God’s marked out for you . . . which may look very different from the road you and Thomas were traveling together.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, then ducked to be eye level with her. “Are we still on speaking terms?”

She smiled up at him, thanking God for such a wise brother. How would she and the boys have gotten through these past two and a half years without him? “Yes. But it’s against my better judgment.”

He grinned, then glanced at the clock, his expression sobering. “Want me to stay until Carnes gets here?”

Rachel pictured the town’s undertaker—such an odd little man—and almost said yes, then thought of Molly back at the ranch with baby Jo, and Mitch and Kurt. “No, I’m fine. Rand should be back any time.” And would be exhausted from no sleep last night and a full day of doctoring.

Once James left, she began straightening up. Heaven knew, there was plenty to clean in this place, though Rand wasn’t at fault. Having witnessed his regimen for cleanliness, she understood that now. She found an old rag and began dusting, anything to keep busy.

She’d spent most of the day with Lyda, and seeing Lyda hurting the way she was brought back so many memories. None of them good. But instead of dwelling on that and on Ben being gone, Rachel determined to recall as many good memories of Ben as she could. That’s what Ben would have wanted.

One immediately sprang to mind and she bit her lower lip, remembering the time Ben had traded out the jar of cherry jawbreakers for hot cinnamon ones. He’d laughed so hard when seeing the boys’ eyes water and mouths pucker. . . . She smiled, teary at the memory.

She straightened a stack of books on an end table and dusted beneath them, then noticed Rand’s Bible lying on the edge of the chair. An embroidered bookmark peeked from the pages, and she opened to the marked passage. Rand had bracketed a set of verses and written something in the margin. She recognized his handwriting.
Lord, grow within me such a faith.
Echoing that sentiment, she thumbed the pages of Scriptures and paused when one page in particular snagged her attention.

Its passages were underlined, some more than once, and the edges of the page were crinkled from repeated handling. She smiled when realizing what psalm it was. One of her favorites.

“Whither shall I go from thy spirit?”
she read more from memory than from the printed text.
“Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell,
behold, thou art there. . . .”
Her eyes went to a portion of Scripture that Rand, she assumed, had underlined twice.
“If I say, Surely the
darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea,
the darkness hideth not from—”

A knock sounded on the door.

Already knowing who it would be, she returned the Bible to its place and readied herself to face Mr. Carnes, the town’s curious and socially awkward undertaker. She opened the door to a cold rush of wind and snow.

“Daniel!” She took a quick step back, holding the door steady in the wind. “W-what are you doing here?” She glanced past him, seeing Beau, his dog, but noticing Elizabeth wasn’t with them. Elizabeth’s absence meant no buffer between her and Daniel, a situation she tried to avoid at all costs. “Where’s Elizabeth? Is she all right?”

“She’s over at the store, with Lyda—and Dr. Brookston.”

Shoulders hunched against the wind, Daniel seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. Common courtesy dictated she invite him inside, and it took every ounce of courtesy within her to oblige. She gestured, but he hesitated. As if seeking to make his decision easier, a gust of wind and snow barreled around the corner. Daniel stepped inside, Beau following, and Rachel closed the door.

Dressed in his customary buckskin, rifle in hand, Daniel seemed to fill the room. Rachel had forgotten that about him. He’d always had a powerful presence, even as a younger man.

“I was bringing Elizabeth into town to see the doctor, but we met up with him on his way back from the Brewers’. He told us about Ben.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I know how close you were to him.”

Though she found it hard to look into his eyes, she forced herself and nodded. His eyes held such sincerity, such honesty. But after what he’d done to Thomas—his behavior had been so reckless, irresponsible. And had cost her so much. “Is Elizabeth sick? Is it something with the baby?”

“Dr. Brookston thinks everything is okay. But Elizabeth’s been real tired. She fainted earlier today, and that’s not like her at all, even since she’s been with child.” He removed his hat and held it in his hands. “Dr. Brookston sent me to get some medicine.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

Reading what Rand had written, Rachel calmed. She recognized what he was likely treating Elizabeth for from the medicine he requested. “I know right where these things are. Wait here and I’ll get them for you.” She worked quickly, knowing the sooner she gave Daniel the medicine, the sooner he would leave.

It took her a few minutes, but Daniel didn’t move an inch from his spot by the door. Nor did he speak.

“Here’s everything Dr. Brookston requested.” She handed him the cloth sack, glancing down at Beau, who stayed ever close by his master’s side. “I wrapped it twice, but try not to let it get wet.”

He opened his jacket and tucked the bundle inside.

The moment lengthened, and Rachel grew antsy.

“Rachel, I . . .” He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit of his since childhood. “I just want to say that . . .” He paused and stared at her, eyes beseeching, no words coming, and she glimpsed the shy boy she’d grown up with. The boy who had taught her how to tell the difference between animals’ tracks, who had shown her his best secret fishing holes, and the friend who had eaten at her and Thomas’s table more times than she could count. The friend Thomas had loved. That
she
had loved. Just as Daniel loved them.

A frown creased his brow, but it wasn’t anger or frustration she saw in Daniel’s face. It was hurt. Hurt and regret layered so deep that the grief seemed to flow between them without need of words. Maybe it was Ben’s passing and the reminder of the brevity of this life, maybe it was the long hours of day wearing thin into night, but she felt the barrier of blame and judgment she’d harbored and tended since Thomas’s death begin to give way.

She scrambled to shore it up, reminded of the countless times she’d seen the look of yearning in Thomas’s eyes when his own sons had scampered up to Daniel’s lap, begging Uncle Daniel to tell them, one more time, about his latest adventure. If Daniel hadn’t pushed Thomas to prove himself in front of his sons, then perhaps Thomas would still be—

The last words Thomas spoke to her came back in a rush. She could imagine him standing there in the doorway of their cabin, could still hear his voice. “Do you not think I can do this, Rachel?” He’d smiled, so kind-natured, loving, always so quick to forgive her—and everyone else. “Have a little more faith in me, honey.” He’d winked. “I love you. I’ll be home before dark.”

And she never saw him alive again.

Staring into Daniel’s eyes, reliving that scene, Rachel felt a weight inside her. A truth buried deep, unearthing itself, growing heavier by the second.

Daniel opened his mouth as if to say something, then swallowed. His lower lip trembled. “I-I’m sorry, Rachel. . . .” His eyes filled. “If I could go back and . . .” He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw cording tight. “If I could go back and do things different, I would.”

Oh, how many times she’d longed for that very thing.

Daniel studied the plank-wood floor beneath his boots, giving her time, she knew. But she couldn’t think of anything to say and couldn’t have spoken past the knot in her throat if she’d wanted to.

He slipped his hat on and opened the door, turning his shoulder into the storm. “Dr. Brookston said he’d meet you here shortly.” With one last look, he left.

But he took a piece of her heart with him—the jagged, razoredged shard that had broken away the moment James had told her how Thomas had been killed. The shard that had lodged itself deep and impenetrable in her pride and in her desperation to blame someone else for something she’d done. Something she’d thought she could never undo.

But she’d been wrong. And Ben had helped her to see that.

33

R
and closed the clinic door behind him and set his bag on the table, relieved Rachel had left a couple of lamps burning. A fire crackled warm in the hearth and he heard footsteps in the back. Glad to discover she hadn’t left, he saw further evidence of her presence in the clinic—bottles and tins perfectly straight on the shelf, all instruments washed and put away, surfaces wiped down, pristine.